inappropriate

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STOP staring at him. 

It was the umpteenth time telling myself. A group of interns were proudly presenting their idea about another AI app (yawn) that could save manhours by requiring more manhours to train it to do something we’d already perfected. But as a penance to my director Chuck after nearly fucking up a half million dollar contract, I’d hear out new business quarterly. What he failed to explain was its nature of a mere college senior project. The interns would be gone in 90 days, sans proprietary property.

Rico was one of them. Except he didn’t fit into the teeny tweens and golf bros around him. From where he was sitting, he was tall. Even hunched over, reading his notes, lips moving in silence as he practiced his piece, he towered over the people around him. I was itching to hear his voice.

I’d given my thoughts & voted on the current group in a blur. He glanced in my direction as he rose and I felt myself exhale a bit louder than I’d expected. I forced myself to look away as his team came up on stage but I could feel him staring at me unabashedly. I pressed my thighs together, hunger creeping down to my toes. I didn’t know they made men like this in real life. Gladiators. Greek Gods dipped in cocoa powder. Puppy dog eyes, juicy lips, and curly hair down to the middle of his back. He was a common topic for the girls in the office, single and otherwise.

He stepped forward, speaking calmly, his voice rolling across the room like a distant thunderstorm. It rumbled under my skin. Even his smile uncurled something inside of me, something that wanted to see those dimples every day for the rest of my life. 

I didn’t listen to what he said. it didn’t matter. We’d discussed it last night. His group wouldn’t win. They couldn’t. Not after what we did. 

You would think the idea of me, the design manager of a major firm, fucking a summer intern 5 years my junior would send me into moral turmoil, especially when others’ hard work had been at jeopardy. And yet here I was, practically vibrating thinking of the next time we were alone. In reality, it wasn’t solely my decision – I sat on a panel of 5 and we’d often disagree. 

I had forgotten about him when I saw him again, bumping into him on the way out the door. 

“Long night?” I asked innocently.

“Yeah, my group wanted to download. Chuck actually wants to know more, so we boned up on some of the questions he asked.”
“I’m sorry you all didn’t win.”
“It’s okay.”
“Any plans for the weekend?”
“I’m hoping I can spend it with my lady. Get over the pain,” he said grinning. “You?”

“Oh I plan on going out and having a wild time with my girls in Chicago.”

An eyebrow, deliciously threatening.

“Oh man, I hope you have fun.”
“I will. I am turning my phone OFF,” I said, strolling out of the elevator. For dramatic effect, I silenced my phone in full view. 

I had three missed calls when I pulled up at home. I grinned to myself, eager about the game I’d started. I wasn’t going out of town until next month, but it was fun to make him wonder. I had managed to shower and slip into my favorite muu muu when the doorbell rang through the house. 

Hands on my throat pushing me inside gently and shutting the door. He pinned me against the wall with a gasp from me. 

“You ignoring my calls?”
“And if I am?” I tilted my chin up to him, offering more of my throat. 

“Why do you like to toy with me, woman? Do you want me to put you over my knee?” 

I nodded, lip between my teeth. God yes.

“You think it’s that easy? Piss me off then you get to play?” 

I nodded again. he growled and kissed me. then stepped away. 

“I’m not even gonna touch you. And you’re not gonna touch me,” he said, stopping me in my tracks. 

“You don’t listen. Only good girls get to play with me,” he said, flicking my chin. He pushed down the strapless dress I was wearing, exposing my damp skin to the chill air. My nipples swelled at the sensation. He looked down my body, taking small steps away from me. I let him look as his eyes traveled back up to mine. 

“Don’t move.”
His hands dropped to his belt, opening it along with his button and zipper. I stepped forward and he moved back, touching the wall. 

“Back.” I went to my original position.

“Stay,” he growled. 

He stripped, exposing his beautiful body, his dick hard like marble in the center. He didn’t break eye contact as he spit onto the tip & began stroking himself. I started to join when he stopped me.

“No no. None for you.”

I whined. I definitely took it too far.

“Baby.”
“This is your fault. Now I have to waste a whole nut.”

A tragedy. I aimed to drink every ounce of him on night one. He moaned so deliciously, stroking his hand with all the passion in his hips.

“Fuck baby. I wish this was you.”

“It can be,” I said, my foot itching to move. He cast a dark look at me, daring me.

“Don’t fucking do it. You stay there and watch.”

I was sure I was dripping down my thighs. How long did he plan to keep this up? was he really going to finish?

“God baby. I’m so hard. See?” he said, letting go, before giving it a hard smack. His balls clenched up against him in joy. I could decide if I would watch his face or his hands. He’s stunned me since we first bumped into each other, late to a party that ended way too early. Now here I was, a speechless sloppy mess over him. 

“You know what happens next baby?”
“No?”
“after I bust this one. I have to teach you how to listen.” He moaned deep, his free hand flying to his stomach. I moved my hands slowly up my thighs, across my stomach just below my breasts. I wanted to draw his eyes to his favorite place. I wanted him to beg me to come closer in time. instead, he huffed a few times and came into his hand. His cum was nearly clear, spreading a thick gloss across his palm. 

He walked to the kitchen and rinsed it clean to my chagrin. 

“Get over here.” I scurried over to him, ready for him to do anything to me, the center of me needy and empty. 

“Look at you,” he chuckled. 

“Now you’re making fun,” I said, standing on my toes to get in his face. I kissed him, damn the rules. He captured me in his arms and kissed me like he needed air to breathe. He pushed me up onto the counter and held me close. His fingers slipped between my legs and touched me, pushing a gasp from me.

“A mess you’ve made,” he said, pushing his fingers deep inside me. Thick and rigged against my tender flesh, I convulsed around him. Too quickly he was gone, moving away from me again.  I had posed my face to whine but I was stopped short by him sucking his first then second fingers clean. 

“What am I going to do with you?” he said, his arms closing me in against the counter. I pressed myself against him – soft against his hard – and whispered. 

“Whatever you want. I’m yours,” I said before I bit his bottom lip. 

Before I could register, he’d thrown me over his shoulder and walked off. I bit his shoulder as he dragged me to the living room, dropping to the couch and throwing me over his knee. I did a poor job containing my glee. I wasn’t supposed to enjoy this – it was supposed to be punishment. But the second his rough hand connected hard to the skin on my ass with a SMACK, that concern evaporated quickly into moist flesh. He rubbed my stinging cheek to gently soothe it before walloping me on the next cheek. I yelped and jerked forward in his lap. 

SMACK – SMACK.

“Don’t run,” he huffed, his voice low and husky with lust. His dick pressed up into my chest and I could feel his need growing. 

SMACK SMACK SMACK. He alternated between the rounds of flesh, his palm running all over. The sensations were overwhelming – the pain, the lust, the gentle caress of his hand. He spread my cheeks open, my lips giving away my excitement with a messy noise that made him jump beneath me. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just knew those people saw how hard my dick was on stage.”

SMACK.

“Thinking about this perfect ass in that leather skirt.”
SMACK SMACK.

“Begging to be punished. Do they know you come undone like this for me? Know that you like to be treated like a little naughty slut?”

SMACK SMACK SMACK. 

I could only respond in moans and begs.

“Imagine if they knew what the boss lady liked,” he said, his delicious fingers finding their way inside me again. I was so close, just a couple more strokes and I’d be putty in his lap, but he was gone again, replaced with the ungentle raps from his open palm. 

He bent down and planted kisses across my ass. I’d be tender later, his way of marking his territory. I’d think of him every time I sat for too long for the next few days. He fingered me again, taking his sweet time as those juicy lips traced up my back. 

“Rico,” I whined, prompting his hand to stop moving. 

“Beg.”
“Please.” He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. 

“Please what?”
“I want to come for you so bad. Please,” I whined, pushing back onto his hand and grinding my body against his hard member. He was leaking – I could feel his tip slipping against my skin. He continued, at a slower pace, determined to drive me crazy.

“Do you? Do you deserve to come?”

I nodded fervently. My toes curled in anticipation as he hovered me right on the precipice. 

“No,” he said, nearly pulling a cry from my throat as he removed his fingers again. He pushed me back so my mouth lined up with his dick and pushed me down onto him. He tasted clean, still sticky from the first orgasm he forced me to watch.

“Eat this dick up first. I know your slutty little mouth has been aching for it.” 

I’d never had someone refer to me in such a way before Rico, but it filled me with such fire, I knew it was mental illness. But something about not being in charge and trusting someone wholeheartedly to do what they wished to me was also new. Rico took care of me in ways I never knew I needed, in- and outside of the bedroom – later, when we were sprawled together in bed still damp from our fun, he’d put words to what I was feeling. He called it love. 

“Camille,” he groaned, pushing deeper into my throat. If this was a punishment, I wanted trouble every day. I’d had him where I wanted him – writhing under me, his hands swirling through my curly hair as he tried to control my pace. When he failed, his fingers crooked back up towards my g-spot as we raced to see who would finish first. He cheated and pushed a third finger into me, sending me into a quivering spasm. I pushed down onto him, letting my moans vibrate against him in my throat. 

“Jesus Christ Camille, I’m cumming,” he said, thrusting deeper. I rose slowly, my tongue dragging across the bottom of his dick and allowing him to squirt on different parts of my mouth. I loved when he marked my flesh. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls, baby. I know I play too much,” I whispered into his dick like a microphone, dropping kisses across his shining skin. We both knew it was an apology I didn’t mean, and one I’d planned to make every time. 

That didn’t stop him from switching our places, giving him the space he needed to push my legs open and reveal my soaked middle to the light. I loved the way he deftly spun his hair into a bun with the tie he saved on his wrist. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his eyes taking me in fully. There was no place to hide from the glow that shone off his skin. Post-coital bliss looked good on him. 

He distracted me with his mouth, those plush lips sucking in on the tender part of my flesh, drawing a moan from me immediately. 

“And you taste so good,” he said, his tongue drawing against me lazily but at a consistent pace that had me immediately panting. 

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he said, wiggling fingers up inside me, coaxing a gentle rush of liquid onto his chin. He locked his arms around me as I clawed at the couch under me, desperate to stay on this plane of existence as I came aggressively, finally, all over him. He didn’t release me, eager to serve as my gravity. With his lips, tongue, and fingers partnered against me, I quickly surpassed his orgasm streak 3-to-2. 

He yanked me down mostly off the couch so I straddled him and quickly slipped inside me with a groan. He pulled my legs into the crooks of his arm, pinning me against the front side of the couch, a new and delicious position that trapped me between a rock and literal hard place. I was filled, hovering at the line between pain and pleasure. Jutting my hips didn’t create the minute space I planned. 

“Uh uh don’t push me away. Take it.” He rocked against my g-spot, forcing another orgasm from me with a grunt. 

“Rico,” I moaned, grasping onto his shoulders as my bottom hit the top of his thighs.

“I got you baby,” he said, rising up slightly to angle differently inside me. He loved that, evident by the string of cuss words that came from him. 

I forced my legs from his grip and pushed him down, giving him a split second to adjust his legs so I could buck my hips against him. I wouldn’t last long on top – Rico’s dick was too perfectly angled this way that set me off like fireworks regularly. I knew he enjoyed watching me unravel on top of him, liked to watch my body jiggle as I rose and fell over him. He sat up and pulled me close to him, kissing me deep as he pumped upwards to push me along.

“Oh!” I gasped, eyes rolling back in my head as I felt that familiar binding inside me. 

“Be a good girl and give it to me. Give it all to Daddy,” he whispered into my chin as my head rolled back. Whatever power he had on me possessed me as I bounced harder against my man. I wanted him to fall apart for me. I wanted to see his face right at the moment of collapse. He gripped my ass hard and drove into me hard and fast, his breath ragged and off beat. 

“Do it baby. Make a mess inside me,” I said, biting his lip. He kissed me back, grunts slipping between his lips as his dick throbbed against me. The sensation made me cum again, soaking us both where our bodies met. 

We laid out on the floor, still in awe with one another. The warmth of his body on mine was one I never wanted to unknow. The warmth that spread in my heart would last past the summer, for a lifetime. 

Consciousness

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Dedicated to the woman with the heart of gold, my OG proofreader, Candice. Miss you boo.

Team 1 (2025, Oakland, CA)

Dr. Sanchez Anderson, 43 – Head of R&D, Stratechsphere

Dr. Mariam Anderson, 41– Research Director, Stratechsphere

Dr. Jessica Miller, 38 – Assistant Research Director, Stratechsphere

Dr. Willam Ostrow, 57 – Senior Development Engineer

Ms. Desiree Onloe, 29– Assistant Development Engineer

Mr. Harold Hyland, 20 – R&D Intern

Even with a ridiculous name, Stratechsphere had absolutely reached the heights its founder Crawford Rollins set forth. Even as the wealthiest tech design and production company, Crawford was ruthless. The tech guru and world’s first gazillionaire burst on the scene when his company won a contract to investigate a strange planet that appeared in the Milky Way a decade ago.

The Andersons had noticed the orders from above were getting more precarious over the last 3 years. All research requests revolved around extending human life and the transfer of human consciousness. 

“Bollocks,” Dr. Sanchez Anderson said, throwing the latest memo onto his desk. His wife and partner, Dr. Mariam Anderson looked up from her computer, a worried look on her face.

“Darling?”

“Another meeting request from Crawford,” he spat. He was fed up with these fantastical projects and focused on something that mattered. 

“He listens to you. Just try talking to him. Calmly,” she emphasized. In reality, Sanchez hadn’t had Crawford’s ear for over a year. In fact, he’d largely tuned him out aside from the random video meeting where he wasn’t on camera. 

He decided to not wait the day and go to Crawford’s office. his assistant barely looked up to acknowledge him.

“Mr. Crawford isn’t accepting any appointments today.”
“He’ll accept this one,” Sanchez said, continuing through the wood panel double doors. He wasn’t sure if the girl was following him; he didn’t care and wouldn’t be stopped. 

The man flitting around the room didn’t look like the normal Crawford. This one was frail and sickly, despite him being on his feet. His previously luscious hair thinned precariously in the back, exposing pink patches of skin. A small backpack connected to tubes that snaked around to show IV connections in his hand. This man was sick. Suddenly the project requests and urgency made more sense. He turned to Sanchez, a weak smile spreading across his hollow cheeks.

“Sanchez! Glad to have you – I might’ve cracked it,” he said, beckoning the man over. 

Crawford worked off a 4D holographer that allowed him to push and move models beyond a single screen. It was an outdated model, but one he enjoyed. He was quoted in many magazines saying it allowed him to properly document his ideas. He was a genius – he redefined the energy uses of the world with a synthetic material called Holotone. He also invented instantaneous travel or “porting”. 

“Sir, I came to talk about this latest project…”
“didn’t you hear me, I’ve done it,” he rasped, clapping Dr. Sanchez’s shoulder. He pulled out a small headpiece that reflected several green lights.

“I’ve developed a program that can carbon copy the human consciousness, shortcutting all of the manual learning needed for AI. I’m on my finally bits of scanning and then it’s time for functionality testing.”

“Sir,” Dr. Sanchez felt a bit of panic. Everything that his team had been focused on indicated that the technology had little credible research to prove it was possible. 

“If this works, this means that every human being on the planet can leave a part of themselves to continue on. Hell, we start with consciousness then we start to build them bodies, eh?” he smiled. He’d lost several teeth in the back. 

Dr. Sanchez was speechless as Crawford continued. Something deep inside of him spiraling, told him to flee from this man and the building. He shook it off as anxiety. 

“Sir, I don’t think you should be experimenting on yourself, in your condition.”

“Considering my condition is terminal, it makes no matter, does it?”

“Is it cancer?” 

“No, something far more fascinating,” he said, continuing to work. Dr. Sanchez would swear that Crawford was happy about being sick.

“They told me my legacy would be infinite. I never imagined,” he said, looking up at his designs lovingly. 

Crawford would not survive to see the final stage of his latest project Consciousness, nor the aftermath of Consciousness bots & the use of Holotone that destroyed Earth. 

Team 2 (2049, somewhere above Earth)

Sergeant Chelsea Overwatch, 32 – Former U.S. Marine

Captain Jackson Turner, 41 – Former U.S. Marine

Ms. Lorna Hernandez, 28 – Former U.S. citizen

Mr. Oliver Onloe – Former U.S. citizen

Dr. Harold Hyland, 44 – Former Stratechsphere employee

Dr. Harold breathed a sigh as they stepped into the artificial atmosphere. He’d been right about the lack of security up here – there was only one surviving portal station, so there wasn’t a need when humans were still being rounded up on Earth. The station had been practically abandoned – since it ran off Holotone with remote access, there was only one reason for physical contact being needed. Sergeant Overwatch peered out of the tiny porthole back at the giant marble they called home. the waters were no longer a vibrant blue from this distance but had dimmed a darker tone. One of the horrible side effects of Holotone usage. 

Captain Turner dropped his pack and took out his canteen. They’d had a plan they would stick to. He didn’t intend to do it sober. Lorna gave him a look of judgement, causing him to jut the container to her. 

“One for the road,” he said, jostling the liquid inside. She took the container and took a large swig, the whiskey burning its way to her stomach.

“Just because there is no security doesn’t mean there’s no risk. We have one chance to get this right,” Dr. Harold said to the group. 

He had no idea the part he’d play in the development of the space station they stood in nor the takeover of the planet by Consciousness. He hoped Crawford rolled over in what was left of his grave. He rolled a map out of the space station on the floor, shining a light on the space. “There are 5 consoles that control the space station. If one or two go down, things will divert to the remaining consoles. It can survive without consoles 3-4, slower, but alive.”

“We need all 5,” Sergeant Overwatch said. Dr. Harold nodded solemnly. 

“All 5 consoles deactivated simultaneously will shut down Stratechsphere and Consciousness. That also means Holotone is rendered useless.”

“No power. No guns.”

“No bots,” Oliver said, smashing his hand into his palm. 

“No portal,” Overwatch said, her eyes connecting with Harold’s. He nodded again. 

“Well we knew there was a shot in hell we’d make it back,” Turner said, taking another shot of whiskey and passing his bottle around. 

“It’s bigger than us,” Lorna said. The fact didn’t stop them from taking a moment to feel their mortality. 

“There’s time to leave. We can find another way,” Harold said, his eyes never leaving Overwatch. 

“This has gone on long enough. The only shot Earth has is this,” Overwatch said. She’d signed her life, and death, away a long time ago.

Harold opened his packs and distributed the disks they each needed and access codes for their assigned consoles. Oliver gave him a fist bump before he took off. Lorna hugged him, standing on her tip toes to reach his shoulders. Turner gave him the last of the whiskey, which he downed. When Overwatch stepped to him, she didn’t accept the disk at first. She stood on her toes and kissed him, trying to pour every conversation they wouldn’t have into his mouth. They both wished they had more time, had met in a different life with a different plan. Harold pressed his forehead into hers and took a breath. 

“Meet me when it’s finished?” she lied, looking into his eyes. He kissed her again softly and let her go. As she walked away, he called back to her. 

“You’re the best of us.”

Overwatch marched down corridor 2 until she reached the large console in the middle of the room. She heard Oliver chime in on her walkie talkie.

“Oliver, in position.”
“Lorna, in position.”
“Turner, in position.”

“You there, Overwatch?” Harold said. His voice was soothing, perfect for the last one she’d hear.

“Overwatch, in position.”

“Insert disks. Enter the code. Now,” Harold said. 

“This is it!” Oliver said. 

The team all inserted their disks and entered the assigned codes. In front of Overwatch, the console opened, revealing a sizeable piece of Holotone – bright teal to mimic the former color of the ocean. 

“Good riddance, you bastard,” she said as a form of Crawford Rollins, the face of Consciousness and spoke through the bots, erupted and announced the countdown sequence. She could hear the implosions occurring around the space station, putting an end to its destruction.

“Chelsea,” Harold chirped one last time. She gasped at her first name.

“Harold.”

“Meet you when it’s finished?”

Team 3 (2049, Earth)

Mr. Rick Whitmore, 33– Former U.S. Citizen

Ms. Kalin Shaw, 34– Former U.S. Citizen

Captain Derek Turner, 39 – Former U.S. Marine 

The assault on the building slowed, followed by large explosions outside and loud thuds. Turner and Rick braced on the door still, waiting for another onslaught from the bots. Kalin crouched behind a desk, holding her bleeding arm. A radio squawked somewhere from the floor.

“Holy shit! The bots! They’re going down!” 

“Here as well!”

The three war-torn survivors looked at one another incredulously. 

“Fuck, they did it,” Rick said, sliding to the floor. Suddenly, he let out a wild whoop into the air. 

“Rick!” Kalin shouted at him, before her eyes led him to Captain Turner, who’d just lost his big brother. 

“Oh, oh man, I’m sorry.”  They’d known what it meant to go to the space station. Derek had volunteered, but in typical older brother fashion, he pulled rank and forced his brother to defend the planet. Tears erupted from his face at the joy of a win, but at a great loss. 

Millions had been poisoned by Holotone, including Crawford Rollins who built his empire on a deposit of the alien technology. It fueled his Consciousness project, which created millions of uncontrollable and free-thinking bots. The space station was his first, but not his only contingent. Turner knew that the work had just begun of rebuilding the planet, but for a moment, he cried for his brother and his new friends. 

The Emerald Truth: Five

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Noelle sat on the edge of the bed, her skinny knee bouncing rapidly as she waited. She could still hear the men outside talking and she needed to pick the right moment so she wouldn’t get busted. A few more moments passed before she heard the car door slam and she made her move. She would lose them if she moved too slowly out the bathroom window or down the block to their car. Kyle had been excessively anal about their movements for years, for good reason. Noelle watched the black van pull away from the hotel parking lot as she jumped into their blue Honda. She’d wished her father was inside the car with her during her first pursuit, but she could hear his voice in her head as clear as a bell. Not too close, two car lengths behind. Stay in the next lane so they can’t see you. Be careful.

            She followed the van to the entertainment district; a block lined with strip clubs, bars, and a movie theater advertising XXX classics. The van turned down the alley behind Club Solo, obscured in the darkness. Closed for the evening, it was a perfect mark. Noelle parked the car across the street and made her way back to the alley, hiding behind the few still cars that lined the street. She could see her father and the mysterious man breaking into the building and disappearing inside. Noelle leapt from her hiding place and raced to catch the door before it locked her outside. She found herself in a dark stairwell and had to use the red EXIT sign to find her way up the narrow stairway. She could hear voices as she approached the door at the top. The doorway led to a balcony above the abandoned dance floor of the club. The lights on the stage were on, shining purple and blue discs across the room. She followed the balcony and the voice to the hallway, where she could finally see her destination.

“You got a lot of fucking nerve, Santos,” the man said with a scowl. His palms were flat on his desk as Kyle rapidly relieved him of the contents of his floor safe.

“I’m just coming for what’s mine,” Santos said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Dirty pig motherfucker,” the man spat. Santos stepped closer to the man, his aim unwavered at his head.

“We’re good, let’s go,” Kyle said, standing. He swung the heavy bag over his shoulder, ready to escape.

“One more thing. Give me the ring,” Santos said. From the hall, Noelle couldn’t see the item he’d requested, but for a second, it drew the attention of all three men. Continue reading

The Emerald Truth: Four

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Dr. Wilhelmina Harris didn’t have an appointment for another 2 hours, so the light rapping on her door surprised her. She opened the door for Dorian Shaw, one of her more unwilling patients. He hadn’t been to see her in some time and she assumed it was important if he was here. “Good morning,” she said with a smile, letting him into the well-lit room. It seems as if the sun was shining in the room as beams of white light illuminated the modest room. “Hey Doc, do you have a minute? I didn’t make an appointment or anything but…” Dorian started before the doctor ushered him inside.

“No, no, it’s fine. Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to the oversized teal sofa in the center of the room as she sat in the matching armchair.

“Everything I say here is confidential, right?” Dorian said, wiping his damp palms on his slacks. Continue reading

The Emerald Truth: Three

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They’d shut the door, but Noelle could still hear from inside. “She stays here or the deal is off,” Kyle said, puffing his chest towards Santos, whom was unfazed by his bravado.

“She‘ll Have world-class care.”

“No deal,” Kyle said, starting back towards the room, before he was seized by Santos.

“Eh, amigo, don’t forget, I own your Black ass. One phone call and your little girl will have a lot more to worry about. This isn’t a discussion,” Santos growled into Kyle’s face, before releasing him and straightening his jacket.

“My daughter is staying here. You need me,” Kyle said, unwilling to back down. Santos smiled, his gold molar shining against his weathered skin. “Fine. I’ll have a patrol car sit out front. Just in case,” he said, pulling out his phone. At least, in the motel room, she’d have the option to escape. Santos dialed a number and Kyle took the opportunity to go and prepare her for the worst.

“Dad…”

“We don’t have time. If I’m not back by midnight, I want you to go out the bathroom window.”

“What?”

“I don’t have time to explain. If I’m not through that door, you need to leave. Go as far as you can with what’s in your bag and I’ll find you. I promise,” he said, planting a kiss on top of her head. As much as she wanted to believe him, she couldn’t find the words to say as he walked out the door. The empty feeling that settled over her was familiar, since she’d been abandoned before. Continue reading

The Emerald Truth: Two

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Dorian had been seeing things, or so he thought. It’d been a while since he was haunted by the ghosts of his wife and daughter. In the beginning, he saw them everywhere, in the faces of every stranger. At night, he could almost feel Olivia’s arms around him and smell the conditioner in her hair.

It had nothing on the déjà vu he was having today, and it wasn’t Olivia. He looked over his shoulder for the 3rd time, looking for the familiar shape. As he approached the building, he turned around, his back to the rotating door. He’d felt it: someone was following him. He scanned the busy avenue, looking for anything or anyone suspicious. Continue reading

The Emerald Truth: One

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I can help!” Noelle repeated, following behind her adoptive father. Kyle ignored her again, going over his checklist in his head once again. He just wanted this night to be over.

“Dad!” Noelle yelled, hands on her narrow hips. The moniker still caught him off guard; never did he expect to become a father in such a short amount of time.

“El, you are helping me. Your job may be the most critical of all.”

“Packing bags? That’s kid shit!”

“Yes, well, with the way you’re acting, I’d say you were very much qualified.”

“What if you need me to squeeze into a ventilation system or sweet talk a guard? I’m useful!”

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me, El,” Kyle said, sighing.

“Then what is it?” A knock on the door interrupted them.

“It’s time to go.” Continue reading

2. Spark

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Of all the men Ray brought home, Trenton was the worst. Outside of the often visible and audible PDA they engaged in, he never seemed to leave. Reagan, now 15, usually ignored her mother’s company, since they never stuck around long anyway.

Reagan stood in the bathroom, snapping pictures of herself in the new striped shirt she’d purchased with her first paycheck. She’d felt him creep past a few times, but ignored him. If he was hovering for the bathroom, he could wait; this was HER house.

The last time he walked by, he lingered in the doorway. Even though he was obviously homeless, his clothes and shoes were always brand new. “Don’t you think those shorts are too short?” he said. Reagan turned to see his eyes snap back upward to her face.
“What?” she said. Normally, she’d answer respectfully, since he was an adult, but she didn’t take kindly to her mother’s company talking to her. At all.
“You got…a lot going on. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you,” he said. By now, he was obviously looking at her body with more than concern. Reagan reached the handle and slammed the door in his face.
 
She remained there for the rest of the afternoon. Alma marched up the stairs and banged on the door with all the strength her palm could muster. “Reagan Mae Dobson, you better get the hell out my bathroom before I tear this door off the frame!”

Reagan opened the door, now clad in her grandmother’s robe. “I thought you had somewhere to be. Why are you in my robe?” Reagan tried to open her mouth and tell her grandmother what happened but she closed it. The only thing she felt was shame and couldn’t handle whatever her grandmother would say. She crossed the hall into her bedroom and shut the door.

Alma was on her heels, joining her in the room before the latch could catch in the doorframe. “Reagan, talk to me,” Alma said. She knew something was wrong with her granddaughter and she feared the worst.
“Trenton told me my shorts were too short.”
“Well, who the hell is he? If I bought them, they’re okay.”
“No. It’s not that,” Reagan said, folding her arms across her chest. She couldn’t shake the disgust that snaked up her spine. Alma sat on the bed next to her granddaughter, patient as she waited for her reply.
“It was the way he…looked at me. Like he does when he follows Mah into another room.”
“Lust,” Alma sighed. Beneath the surface of her smooth cocoa skin, she was fuming.
“Talking about he didn’t ‘want anyone to get the wrong idea about me’,” Reagan said. She roughly wiped away the tears that had begun to fall, annoyed she’d become this emotional again. Alma pulled the girl into her chest and held her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Reagan. You’re a good girl, you always have been and I promise that it will never happen again, as long as you are under this roof and there is breath in my body.”

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1. Return

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Reagan didn’t know what to expect when she crossed the threshold of her childhood home. The walls had been repainted, the furniture was replaced but she still recognized it as home. Her grandmother’s wall of plants were still thriving, perfectly placed in front of the bay window. “Gigi? Mah? You guys here?” Reagan said, dropping her backpack on the couch. She walked down the hall towards the kitchen, hoping her grandmother was cooking a welcome home feast of all her favorite high-calorie foods. She found the kitchen spotless and empty.

Reagan made her way throughout the rest of the house until she found her old bedroom, still decorated with her Word Up! Posters of boy bands long gone. The collage of photos hung over her desk, full of pictures of friends and postcards of destinations she’d planned to take. The bed was freshly made, dressed with new yellow linens to match the yellow throw rug at the foot of the bed. As she slipped deeper into her nostalgia, she heard the heavy front door open and close. She galloped down the stairs to see her mother, kicking off a pair of 5 inch heels.

“Hey Mah,” Reagan said, coming down the rest of the stairs.
“Reagan? My baby!” Ray said, throwing her arms around her daughter. “I didn’t know you were coming in today! I would’ve taken the day off!”
“It’s fine, I just got here. Where’s Gigi?”
“It’s Wednesday. She’s got her card game with the biddies down the street. Come in, let me look at you!” Ray said, spinning her daughter around. They sat on the couch and Ray threw her arms around her daughter again.
“I have missed you SO much!”
“I missed you too, Mah.”
“Tell me everything. What happened with you and what’s his name? Jetson?”
“Hudson. And nothing really. He proposed, I said no, then bought a plane ticket,” Reagan said, shrugging her shoulders.
Ray patted her daughter on the thigh. “Good for you, baby. Don’t let these nappy-head niggas tie you down. You have so much more going for you than being a wife,” Ray said before standing again.
“We need to celebrate! Let’s go out tonight!” Ray said, pulling her daughter from the couch. Reagan had forgotten how much natural energy her mother had. “I don’t know, Mah, I kinda just want dinner and a hot bath.”
“Oh, don’t start that old lady shit with me! I get enough of that from Mah!”

As if on cue, the front door opened once more and Alma Mae entered the house and took in the scene. “Reagan! Baby!” Alma said, pulling her granddaughter into a tight embrace.
“Hi Gigi!” Reagan said, embracing her grandmother. Alma even smelled the same to Reagan, like warm shortbread cookies.
“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t come in for another few days.”
“I was…really anxious about getting here,” Reagan said, partially fibbing.
“Anxious to get away from that Jetson boy,” Ray said, sauntering into the kitchen.
“Hudson and no, I was not,” Reagan yelled after her mother.
“Why, what happened boo?”
“He just…proposed a little.”
“OH MY LORD JESUS! Let me see the ring!” Alma said, clapping her hands together.
Before Reagan could offer an explanation, Alma had pulled her left hand up to inspect the ring that wasn’t there.
“He didn’t have a ring?” She asked, her top lip turned slightly in disgust.
“I didn’t accept it.”
“Oh, honey, you can always go pick out a new one. That’s what gift receipts are for,” Alma said as she headed to the kitchen behind her daughter. Reagan sighed before following them.
“I didn’t accept his proposal,” Reagan said, sitting down at the table.
Alma, who had begun pulling leftovers from the fridge, froze. “Well, why not?” she said, dropping the Tupperware on the table with a little too much gusto. Ray snorted into the glass of lemonade she’d poured.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be tied down to some ain’t shit man for the rest of her life.”
“Oh, shut up Ray,” Alma said, swatting at her daughter.
“I don’t know. I just wasn’t…excited. I always thought when I met the one, I’d feel it. Sparks or something,” Reagan said, shrugging her shoulders.
“You don’t have to settle. There are plenty of men who will set your whole person ablaze,” Ray said, setting another glass in front of her daughter.
“Sparks are overrated. I felt sparks the first time I met your grandfather. Sparks lead to fire,” Alma said, sipping from the glass her daughter left unattended.

The woman straightened her dress after she pressed the doorbell. She’d seen the address on Theodore’s driver’s license so many times, she had it memorized: 341 Tireman Rd. The woman, his wife, opened the door and dried her hands on the towel she’d draped on her shoulder. It was the day before the holiday, July 3rd and she had plenty of food to prep before the family arrived.
“Yes?” Alma asked the mystery woman. She was empty-handed so Alma immediately knew she wasn’t a saleswoman.
“Alma Dobson?”
“Yes?” Alma repeated, finding herself annoyed.
“Who is it, Mommy?” A little girl appeared behind her mother, the spitting image of Theodore, with pigtails.
“Mind your business, Almathea.”
“Hi, little lady. What’s your name?” the woman asked the small child, kneeling slightly. Alma stepped in front of her child and placed her hand on her hip.
“Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to know if Theodore was coming home,” the woman said, straightening suddenly and staring Alma square in the eye.
“It’s the holiday. Theodore is already home.”
The woman chuckled and licked her lips, prepared to spill the secret she’d been keeping for weeks.
“Everyone knows he’s just playing house over here, until he gets up the courage. He might be afraid of you, but I’m not. I just wanted to let you know that—“
“Know what? You need to talk a little faster,” Alma said.
“Your husband has been sleeping with me. For weeks now. I just wanted to be a woman and let you know that we plan on getting married.”

Alma’s face didn’t budge, not from surprise or distress; she’d already known about her husband’s extracurricular activities. “Is that all?”
“I’d just like to know when Theodore is coming home,” the woman repeated, gathering up what little dignity she had left. Alma grinned at her audacity.
“You enjoy your weekend,” Alma said, attempting to shut the door, when the woman stuck her foot in the doorframe.
“Excuse me, bitch, I wasn’t done,” the woman said, trying to push the door off her now-pinned foot.

What happened next would be talked about for months and would prevent any of Theodore’s women from darkening their doorway. Alma opened the door again and stepped onto the porch, forcing the woman to take a step back.
“Theodore Macrae Dobson lives at 341 Tireman Rd,” Alma said before backhanding the woman with her left hand. The strike stunned her and knocked her to the ground.
“There is but ONE bitch with paperwork on Theodore Dobson,” she said, before punching the woman full in the face. She tried to crawl down the steps before Alma grabbed her and shoved her into the banister three times, breaking several of the wooden planks on the side.
“That bitch’s name is Alma Mae Dobson and if you ever come over here again, thinking you run some shit, you better remember that you are on MY property and the police won’t think twice about me defending my home and my family,” Alma said, before kneeling to whisper in the woman’s ear. “With my pistol,” she said before throwing the woman out onto the street.

Theodore, tall and dark, bound out the house when he heard the commotion from the kitchen. He came out to see his wife walking back into the house while Whitney struggled to stand in the street, her face covered in blood. Stunned, he turned to Alma, who kissed him sweetly on the lips before asking “Are the ribs done, baby?”

“Gigi, when are you gonna get this porch fixed?” Reagan asked, as she began pulling her boxes from the car out front. Alma stopped and admired the broken posts. “They remind me of your granddaddy,” she said, smiling to herself.

Ray didn’t give her daughter a chance to unpack before she began demanding they go out. “Here, wear this,” she said, tossing her daughter a strappy navy-blue dress.
“Mah, really?” Reagan said, inspecting the dress. Knowing her mother, it would reveal way more than Reagan was comfortable, however, she knew her mother would pick out something much worse if she complained.
“Just put it on!”

Dressed, Reagan tiptoed into her mother’s room and watched her at her vanity. Even as a child, Reagan loved watching her mother get ready to leave out, because she made everything seem as though it were a special occasion. Even in her 40s, she was still exceptionally beautiful and she used that beauty to pass for a woman in her 30s. Everything about her appearance had to be perfect and in place. Ray had encouraged her daughter to be everything she could be: smart, funny, cultured, but her emphasis on beauty was paramount.
Alma walked by and spotted her daughter in her mirror before she whispered in Reagan’s ear. “Maybe you guys will be gone by Labor Day.”
“I heard that!” Ray said, never taking her eyes off the mirror as she drew a perfect line of eyeliner. “I am so excited that you are here, Reagan. I just started going to this new place called Clover and I just LOVE it! And the men,” Ray said, before giving a suggestive shiver.
“I thought it would just be us, Mah,” Reagan said, sitting as best as she could on the end of the bed in the bandage dress.
“What’s a party without men?” Ray said as she sprayed setting spray all over her face.

The party at Clover seemed to be just that: men of varying ages, shooting their shots at every available woman in the room. As soon as Ray and Reagan entered, they were swept up in a bevy of offers and compliments. Ray, a frequent flier, danced away, eager to entertain her new friends, leaving Reagan standing awkwardly near the exit. She migrated to the bar, where she planned on staying until her mother tired herself out.
“What can I get you?” the pretty blonde bartender asked.
“Jameson and coke,” Reagan said, before surveying the room. Out the corner of her eye, she spotted her mother climbing up onto a table and dancing to the Migos song that was playing.
“Actually, hold the coke,” Reagan said over her shouder to the bartender.

An hour had gone by before she saw her mother again, who had rushed to the bar on the arm of a stranger. “Reagan! Meet Hammer! Hammer, this is my daughter, Reagan,” Ray said, snuggling up to the large man.
“Hammer?” Reagan said, giving her mother an incredulous look.
“Daughter? You guys could be sisters,” the man said, looking too hard at the two of them. Reagan could sense the gross thoughts that were crossing his mind as he stood in front of two beautiful women and she scoffed.
“Can I buy you another drink?” he asked.
“No, Hammer, I’m good,” Reagan said, before downing the remainder of her third drink and walking off.

Ray followed her daughter to the bathroom, where she was washing her hands. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Yeah, kinda. I don’t wanna stop the party between you and Hammer,” Reagan said sarcastically.
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to cheer you up.” Reagan sighed as she looked up in the mirror at her mother.
“No. I’m sorry. I have been a Debbie Downer today. I guess I’m just more tired than I thought. We don’t have to leave if you don’t want.”
“Or…you could take the car and I can ride with Hammer,” Ray said, smiling.
Reagan turned around, ready to tell her mother off. It annoyed Reagan that her mother was still up to her old tricks and had used her as an excuse. However, the whiskey was kicking in and she wanted nothing more to lay in her bed. Plus, she’d just be wasting her breath. Her mother would never change. “Sure, Mom. Have fun,” Reagan said, pulling her mother into a tight hug.

Handsome

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The cardboard box in Marie’s front seat jingled as the car came to a halt. It had recently been filled with her personal items from a cramped desk after she was emailed a layoff notice. She sighed as she yanked her purse from beneath it and left the car.

Woody’s was her normal haunt on the weekends, a means of celebrating her often short-lived weekends with her friends. During the week, like this particular Wednesday, the place resembled a ghost town.
“Whiskey, please. Make it a double,” she said, perching on one of the lesser worn stools at the end of the bar. The bartender, one of the weekday workers, poured the drink swiftly and slid it in front of her. Marie downed the drink in one gulp.
“Another one, please.”
“Looks like you had the same kind of day I had,” said the man several seats away.

She hadn’t noticed him, at first. She’d been too preoccupied with her drink choice before deciding it didn’t matter; it wasn’t as if she had to work in the morning. Now, looking at him, he was far more attractive than his surroundings. “Well, I just lost a really cushy job. Of course, they wanted me to finish the day first,” she said, taking a sip from the fresh glass in front of her.
“I guess we both learned how little we matter today,” he said. His words stung a little deeper than she expected.
“I’m sorry. My girlfriend…she left me today,” he said, shaking his head before sipping the clear drink in front of him.
“Her loss,” Marie said, raising her glass and taking a sip as well. The man wiped his hand on his jeans before extending it to Marie, leaning across the seats between them.
“Jefferson,” he said with a grin.
“Marie.” Continue reading